


Ship to Wreck

by fitzsimmonsy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, past Jemma/Will - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsy/pseuds/fitzsimmonsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team helps Jemma deal with the guilt of Will's sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ship to Wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msdevindanielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdevindanielle/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Devin! I hope you enjoy this little ficlet I wrote you. I wish I could have written chapters and chapters of fic about Jemma dealing with her guilt, but I wanted to make something in time for you. I love you lots! ♥
> 
> As an aside, I actually got the wave imagery idea from a Reddit post I read awhile ago, so it's definitely inspired by that.

The silence lasts only a few minutes after Fitz finishes his story, but the echoing of Jemma’s heartbeat in her ears makes it feel like it had been hours.

“So… he died when I went through?” Jemma’s voice is a hoarse whisper.

Fitz takes in a quick breath, lips parting as he shoots a glance at her, then looks back down at the mug of tea in his hands. Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry, Jemma…”

Her chest tightens. She can't imagine what he feels sorry for. Nothing that went wrong was any of his doing. “For?”

He lifts his head, meeting her gaze. “For Will. I'm sorry that–” He pauses, biting his lip as he struggles with the phrasing. “That you– that he ended up dead. I know how much he meant to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

Something about his words, his look, his face just makes her boil over with rage. “It’s not your fucking fault, Fitz! Stop apologizing!” Her knuckles whiten as she grasps the mug tighter in her shaking hands. “You didn’t leave him there. You didn’t make the decision to leave another human being behind on a planet where they had been stranded for fourteen years. You weren’t the one to let Dr. Garner out of containment so he could murder all those innocent souls-“ She throws the mug at the wall with a strangled cry, feeling a little relieved when it shatters into a thousand pieces.

“Wait, Jemma-“

“You are the one who never gave up hope; who gave your life for me when we were at the bottom of the ocean. You weren’t the one who left someone to die. I was the one that got to see the sun again. Not Will. Not those poor people Dr -Lash- killed. Everyone dies around me and I just can’t-“ She can’t scream anymore, and instead lets out ragged breaths punctuated with wracking sobs. Pain radiates from her chest and she staggers from her chair, trying to get away before she crumples on the floor in front of Fitz.

The air grows heavier with each step and she feels her lungs caving in, bile rising in her throat. She recognizes the weight - the weight that slammed into her body when Fitz pressed the button and wouldn’t stop for nine long days; she cannot bear it again.

Fitz scrambles up, trying to get to her before she reaches the door, but she gets there first. She wrenches the door open, finding herself face to face with May.

The surprise of it lessens her pain, but only for a moment.

“Fitz, I’ll take care of it. Go get washed up.” May’s tone is stern, but soft. Fitz looks like he’s about to argue, but after a glance at May, he quickly scampers past them.

May takes Jemma gently by the elbow, leading her back into her room, closing the door behind them. The uncharacteristic show of affection only makes Jemma sob harder. She doesn’t deserve it.

“I know it feels like you can’t live with what you’ve done.” May tells her tonelessly, though her touch remains motherly. She pushes Jemma to sit on the bed. “It’s like the ocean.” Jemma flinches at the word, but May continues anyway. "The first days, weeks, months… you’re shipwrecked. The waves are high and you will be pulled under. Over and over again. But, you have to float. Float until the waves calm."

May holds her hand, grasping it tightly. Jemma wants to tug her hand free, to get pulled under the wave that May so aptly describe. But, with her focus on her trapped hand, the pain in her chest begins to subside, her breathing slowly normalizing. She curls up on the bed, still holding May’s hand.

“But, the waves will get smaller. And further apart. And you’ll breathe in between,” May’s voice is lulling her now. “And even if they come crashing down… you’ll come out on the other side. Wet and sputtering. But you’ll come out, Jemma.”

Jemma can feel May let go of her hand and run it softly over her hair, as merciful sleep tugs her under, her sobs releasing her.

In the middle of the night she wakes to find Fitz sitting at the foot of the bed, his neck craned back as he sleeps. She crawls to him, placing her head in his lap.

—

She sleeps on and off for the next few days almost continuously. Fitz brings her tea and biscuits and fruit, but after pushing them around on her plate, she goes right back to bed. Asleep, she can’t feel the racking pain in her body and heart, she can’t feel her lungs collapsing into themselves, aching for oxygen as the dark waters haul her under.

He stays with her each time. She’s glad she doesn’t have to ask. She knows that he wants to talk about what’s happened, but she’s grateful that he doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve it, but the warmth of his body soothes the aching she feels in every muscle and tendon from fighting the currents.

After week goes by, it’s Daisy opening her door instead. Jemma quickly runs a hand through her hair, trying to look more presentable.

“Hey,” Daisy says slowly. Her pitying gaze washes over Jemma, threatening to tug her under again.

“I.. just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m alright,” Jemma smiles despite herself. “Just catching up on my sleep. You know how sleep deprivation is cumulative. And these past few weeks I haven’t gotten much so what better time than now to-”

Daisy is undeterred. “I know how it feels.”

Jemma doesn't reply, but focuses on picking at her nails instead.

Daisy hesitates before sitting on the corner of her bed, though Jemma looks up for long enough to nod permission. “When.. when Trip died… It felt like - it felt like I was climbing stairs every day. Except, the staircase was endless and my body hurt and I had this constant headache and I couldn’t tell what pain was causing what. But nothing, nothing could block out feeling like he traded his life for mine.” Daisy gulps.

“That feeling….knowing someone gave their life for you? It’s the worst feeling because you feel like you don’t deserve it at all.”

Jemma doesn’t look up.

“I know Will was a good guy. I heard what he did for you. I know that it’s what Trip did for me and I’d do anything…”

Daisy pauses, sniffling, but holds up her hand when Jemma tries to rise to comfort her.

“Look, this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I just meant.. I know what you’re going through and I’m here if you want to talk. Just don’t close yourself off, ok? We love you and we’re here to help.”

Before leaving, Daisy turns around once more. “I also looked up his mom. When you’re ready.”

—

It’s Bobbi’s idea, using the NASA cover. Fitz spends the night crafting a medal of honor with Mack’s help. She knows that because their eyes are half lidded and jaws are rigid, attempting to stifle their yawns, when they gives it to her. Mack shows her how Fitz melded the real NASA insignia. As Jemma runs her fingers over the cool, ridged metal, the finesse of his craftsmanship loosens the knot in her stomach, if only for a moment.

Bobbi lays out their outfits - the pencil skirt and heels aren’t what Jemma is used to; neither is the slicked up-do. But taking on a role somehow makes it easier to stay above the water.

Of course, keeping to her role is harder when the old woman, her wrinkly eyes shining with tears, opens the door. When Jemma notices how the woman’s face collapses as she sobs, a high-pitched ringing fills her ears, reverberating in her skull with painful throbs. She can hear the tempo of Bobbi’s anchoring, warm voice over the din; she just can't focus on the words. Jemma is sure Bobbi is saying what Mrs. Daniels needs to hear. Better than what she could say anyway.

The ringing settles by the time Bobbi gives her a soft nudge, and Jemma steps towards the woman, pushing the medal into her hands. She makes sure to set her jaw hard to keep the tears and guilt from spilling out.

“Your son was a hero. You should be very proud.” She says her lines because she has no words to try and describe his sacrifice.

Mrs. Daniels begins to weep again and it’s very hard for Jemma not to do the same when she is swept into a hug.

Back on Zephyr One, Jemma allows herself to crumple into Fitz’s arms, gasping for air. She’s grateful that Bobbi didn’t allow anyone else to come.

—

Hunter brings her moonshine that night, and though it tastes worse than uncooked alien tentacles, she wills it down anyway. It’s cold and numbing and just what she needs.

Fitz and Bobbi join them too. Her fingers tingle and her face is flushed and she forgets herself and presses into the space under Fitz’s arm as the night goes on. She feels the callouses as his thumb strokes hers gently. His hand trembles and she remembers that it’s never stopped doing that since the pod.

The weight of the sacrifices that brought her to this moment squeeze her chest and she jerks out of his arms. His expression isn’t bewildered or angry, simply pained, and she clutches her head in agony as her breathing becomes erratic.

She can’t really understand what they’re saying, but she knows Fitz is protesting. “I got this one, mate. Take a break for once,” she can make out Hunter scold.

When she looks up, only Hunter is there, leaning back in his chair at an angle that she’s sure is quite dangerous, resting his glass in his palm.

He doesn’t look over at her when he says quietly, “You never know what call you’ll make that goes wrong. Knew this gal Hartley. Best friend. I pulled out on a mission to save her. And that’s what killed her. Maybe there’s some stings of fates you can’t untangle.”

Jemma drowns the sorrow of his words by finishing off her glass. She now wants to roll her eyes at him and rant about fate, but the alcohol has made her too tired to move her lips, and thankfully too tired to fight the waves. Her head falls back on the couch where it’s still warm from Fitz. As she’s closing her eyes she feels Hunter slide one arm under her knees and the other under her armpits. Her protests are whimpers as he carries her back to her bunk.

She wakes up to  find Fitz snoring as he’s slumped in the chair beside her bed. She drinks the water he’s left for her and she falls back asleep.

—

“It’s not your fault,” Fitz repeats as she presses into his chest, her fist tightening around the fabric of his shirt, clawing to stay adrift.

His gentle kisses on her forehead give her the courage to finally ask aloud what she’s never dared to even think before. “How can I live with it? Knowing what pain my life has caused?”

He looks a little taken aback, blinking a bit before he whispers, “You don’t cause pain, Jemma.” The trembling hand that brushes the hair from her face betrays him.

“You could have died in the pod,” she insists. “And what happened after… you’re still not the same. And Will spent fourteen years on a desolate planet and simply wanted to see the sun. He died to let me go home.”

“Jemma, the cosmos…” She snorts despite herself. He grins slightly, but continues anyway.

“The cosmos has just dealt you some bad cards. It’s not fair. The universe isn’t fair.” She opens her mouth to retort, but he doesn’t let her. “But it’s also not malicious. It’s random. We just have to make choices when the universe throws these situations at us. Will died knowing that you survived. If I know anything about that, and I think I might, then I can assure you he did it without a moment of regret. I’ll tell you it every day until you believe it.”

A curious ticking sensation builds in the back of her throat and Jemma realizes that it forces her lips to turn into a smile. She curls into him. Her arm tucks under his, as her other hand runs over his chest again, and he cradles it with both of his.

“I’m so glad you came back to me,” she whispers.

If this is floating, it’s not so bad.

—

She knows that the waves won’t ever stop coming, but with her family, with Fitz, they are fewer and far between. That between the waves there is life, hope, and she can breathe freely.


End file.
